


naked alone

by lameafpun



Category: Naruto
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Explicit Consent, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Identity Porn, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somewhat, also somewhat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: There was a man at the other end of the bar. Wait — you needed to make an amendment to that thought. There was ahandsomeman at the other end of the bar.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Reader, Sukea (Naruto)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	naked alone

There was a man at the other end of the bar. Wait — you needed to make an amendment to that thought. There was a _handsome_ man at the other end of the bar. Granted, you could only see his profile and the two most prominent clothing items he was wearing: a gentle coral colored scarf and a long green coat that brushed the bottom of his knees. That wasn’t saying much either. The bar was dark and cloudy from cigarettes and other illicit substances, illuminated by overhead lights whose bulbs probably should have been replaced months ago. And yet you could tell he was handsome. It was the shape of his nose, the slope of his throat, the way he held himself. He slouched, which couldn’t have been good for his back but it was a sexy kind of slouch. The low level horniness that came with coming to the bar kicked into a higher gear.

And you were only three shots in.

“I’m gonna - “ You gesture toward the bar, smiling at the pair of rolled eyes from your friends.

“Your ho is showing.” Rei drawls into her mug, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. At her side, Tomi nods sagely.

“You’re goddamn right it is. Look at him!”

Tomi peeks as sneakily as he can. The objectively handsome stranger still hasn’t moved and it’s easy to get an eyeful of his almost artfully mussed chestnut hair, the sharp line of his jaw, and the eye catching purple marks — tattoos maybe? — that paint his face from the bottom of his brows to the tops of his cheekbones in two long, neat rectangular stripes that taper bluntly at the ends. His eyes widen and you smugly raise your brows, wiggling them suggestively.

“Right?”

Tomi’s gaze darts down, trying to interpret the visible lines on your pants. “Which pair are you wearing right now?”

“The black ones.” You preen.

Rei swallows a mouthful of beer and raises a platinum blonde eyebrow. “Basic.”

“But it’s a _sexy_ kind of basic.”

“Mmmno. Just basic.”

“Well then, O Great One, which lacy number is the Panty Goddess herself wearing?”

Rei tosses her hair again, sets her chin on her palm, and smirks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “If you must know - “

Tomi hisses your name.

“Wh - Oh shit, he hasn’t left has he?”

“No but he might if you don’t get over there.”

Two pairs of hands nudge (shove) you off your seat. When you glance back, both Tomi and Rei are pumping their fists in the air. You can practically hear the overdramatic cheer of “get it!”, a ritual you started when you begun going to bars with them, a cheer you’re only regretting a little.

Clearing your throat, you slide onto the stool next to the stranger.

“Hey!” You wave, smiling at the quirk of the stranger’s lips. His mouth is half hidden behind the fluff of the scarf so you just catch the crease of skin above their lip and the little eye smile that’s weirdly familiar. “Don’t come around here often, do you?”

The quirk of his lips turns into the barest beginning of a smile. He huffs out a laugh, smoothing a lock of hair back and you watch the movement of long, lithe fingers maybe a little too intently. It’s not really a revelation that he’s hot. That much was obvious at a glance. The revelation is that, up close, you can see just how painfully attractive he really is.

“That obvious?”

“Mm, yeah. No one ‘cept newbies would accept Hime’s offer of the ‘house beer.’ No shade to her — it’s a work in progress.” You nod to the glass of lightly green brew, distinct even in the low light, before grinning at him. “And I think I would’ve noticed someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He sets his chin on his palm. You want to kiss the beauty mark there, see it bracketed by your thighs (ah shit, you’re not gonna be able to get that out of your mind now). You cross your legs underneath the overhang of the bar counter. “Should I be offended?”

Your grin gains a flirtatious edge as you shake your head lightly. “Only if me telling you you’re pretty as a picture is unwelcome.”

He blinks, like he has to take a second for the compliment to process, before an almost delicate pink flushes his cheeks. His eyes don’t leave yours, not even as you lean close to whisper.

“And I bet everything underneath your coat is just as gorgeous.”

When you sink back into the barstool and get an eyeful of the handsome stranger, you’re only faintly aware of the cheering from your former seat (that was definitely Tomi). His mouth had dropped open — and damn if that didn’t give you _ideas_ (you uncrossed and recrossed your legs) — and he’d leaned toward you. Not very much but enough to tell that he’d followed, if only for a second.

“It really is a very nice coat — you’ll have to tell me where you got it.” Your gaze is half lidded and heated, tracing the line of his jaw all the way up to his eyes, locking onto his gray stare. “Still, I think it’d look better on my floor.”

He swallows. You lick your lips as his adam’s apple bobs, your smile leaning more toward dorky than sensual.

“Along with, uh, whatever else you have underneath it. If you want.”

To your disappointment he turns back to the bar, lifts a hand to trace over the lip of his mug.

“How often do those lines work for you?”

“Usually I’m the one receiving ‘em.” You shrug. “I don’t know, I think they’re cute. Your verdict?”

You prop your cheek on your palm as the handsome stranger lifts his mug and wince as he takes a sip. Honestly, the home brew was probably the most alcoholic thing you’d ever consumed. Not in a good way, either. It tasted a little like rubbing alcohol. The hangover you got from it was the worst one you’d ever experienced. Tomi had refused access to his wonderful, wonderful medical chakra techniques because he’d told you not to but someone at the bar had bet 100 ryo you wouldn’t be able to finish a mug and — well, at the end of the night, you were 100 ryo richer. You had spent the day after vomiting, though.

He swallows the little mouthful with a grimace and pushes the glass away. “Cute.”

“Cute enough to work, stranger?”

He hesitates. “Sukea.”

“Su - Sukea?”

“My name. And . . . “ Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “Yes.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that comes to your face even if you wanted to.

“Wanna get out of here then, st - Sukea?”

He turns to you, flushed from lust (you hope, cause you sure were) and the mouthful of ridiculously alcoholic beer you’re not entirely sure is legal.

“Yours?” You nod and reach for his hand as you slip off the bar stool.

“Mine.” He lets you take his hand, lets you tug him off his seat. You have to hold in a gasp as he stands. He’s tall. Not stupid tall, but tall enough to necessitate tilting your head back to look at his face. His very, very pretty face. You want to tug him down by his scarf and kiss him silly, but you’re still in the middle of the bar. “Fuck.”

“N-not that I don’t want to, but I think they’d kick us out if we tried anything here.”

You choke out a laugh but force your feet to take you to the entrance. Your legs are all jelly and never before have you been so grateful that your apartment was only a block away.

A cloud of chilly air hits you as soon as you emerge from the bar. You shiver, debate the merits of letting go of Sukea’s hand to tuck yours under your arms for extra warmth, but before you can warm cloth is being wrapped around your neck. Faded, pale coral.

“Sukea?”

Moonlight illuminates his flush. Without the scarf you can see how it descends past the neckline of his coat. _So_ , you think to yourself, _it_ does _go farther_.

“You looked cold.”

He scratches the back of his neck, surprisingly bashful. It’s adorably hot and you slow your steps so you can lean against his arm. The scarf smells vaguely chemical-y, but under that it smells a little like books and, weirdly, dogs.

“You’re sweet.”

You’re a street away when something interrupts the peaceful air.

Someone shouts behind you. It’s a “hey, you!” kind of shout, and you turn. Try to, anyway.

“Who - ?”

Sukea pulls you into an alley, his grip on your hand suddenly tight.

“Sukea?”

He cages you against the brick with a groan, slips his hand from yours to grab your hips. His fingers dig in harshly as he lifts, the brick dragging against the back of your shirt. You wrap your legs around his slim waist. He flattens you against the brick with one hand at your hip and the other at your thigh, tugs his scarf out of the way, and lowers his lips to your neck. They’re warm and soft and skim over your skin gently, sucking the occasional mark, and sucking away all thoughts that didn’t involve his mouth. You can feel it curl into a smile as you pant, open mouthed, into his ear. Small hints of friction bleed through the fabric of your pants. If you’d been wearing something more accessible you know you wouldn’t have made it back to your apartment.

“S - !” A shout at the mouth of the alley, cut off suddenly, makes you freeze. Over the curve of Sukea’s back you see a flash of pink and yellow.

“Not that I don’t want to-ooo,” You groan as he rakes his teeth over your pulse point, clutch at his biceps, “but I don’t want to be arrested for public indecency.”

He hums, noses your skin, and slowly sucks another mark.

“Sukea!” You squeeze your thighs, force his hips closer to yours. The breathless moan you pull from the depths of his lungs as you grind against him is almost worth all the hickeys. The mindless way he ruts against you, the friction that has you shuddering and sinking your fingers into the fabric of his coat, is definitely worth the hickeys. “‘M gonna steal your scarf. C’mon.”

Reluctantly, he lets you down. His whole face is flushed and he can’t meet your eyes even as he plants a hand on your shoulder to keep you steady.

“You okay?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“Oh, you should.”

He shuffles. “I - “

“Because I’m super close to cumming in my pants and I really wanna get fucked before that happens please.”

He stops shuffling. Swallows. You meet his stare with a grin.

“We’re only a street away.” You tug his sleeve. “Unless you have somewhere to be?”

It’s an out. You’re honest enough to admit you hope he doesn’t take it but even greater than your want of this is your want for Sukea to want it too, as badly as you do. Painfully pretty Sukea who can’t meet your eyes even after nearly fucking you in an alley.

“Sukea?”

He winces slightly.

“Oh - shit, are you okay? You didn’t, like, catch something in a zipper did you? Because that shit hurts and - look, you don’t have to - “

He cups your cheek with a hand, traces the marks he’d left on your neck with the other while gazing down at you almost reverently. “I want to.”

His touch is light and it makes goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“H - okay.” You breathe. “Let’s - fuck - let’s go.”

Despite the chill in the air your skin is hot to the touch. Sukea looks like he’s just emerged from a sauna. It gets a little worse as you approach your apartment building and it’s entirely your fault. Keeping your hands to yourself is hard. You can’t stop pressing kisses against his hand, against his fingers that are twined with yours. You want to press kisses other places as well, but then you’d probably pull him into an alley yourself and you really want to see his nakedness in all its glory. Still, you manage to find your building and stumble up the stairs with Sukea in tow. He’s touching you too, brushing his hands over your body almost impatiently. You nearly have a heart attack when you can’t find your keys but they’re in the last pocket you check. Then, you’re tripping into your apartment with Sukea’s lips on yours.

“Sukea.” You mumble into his mouth. For once, you think, as you pull him to your bed, you’re absurdly grateful that your apartment is a studio. “Clothes.”

You fumble at your clothes. Luckily the only button on your outfit is the one on your pants. That pops open easily. Your sweater is the next thing to come off and you have to separate from Sukea to slip it off, flinging it to the laundry chair in the corner of your room. As soon as you shimmy out of them, your pants join the pile of laundry. Then, the scarf. You’re left standing next to your bed in nothing but your underthings and, you look behind you, so is Sukea.

“Oh.” You are sober (mostly). You’re awake. These are two things you know to be true. And yet, Sukea looks like the product of an utterly fantastical wet dream. Tall, muscled, with scars and marks criss crossing his pale skin, and oh, god, his _thighs_. And then your eyes follow the outlines of muscle in his thighs that lead up to the hem of his boxer briefs. Your eyes travel higher. The shades haven’t been drawn yet. With the aid of moonlight you can see his dick outlined against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He’s hard and, under your gaze, twitching. You have to swallow the drool pooling in your mouth. “Bed please.”

In addition to the request you tug at his hand and push him toward the mattress. He seems happy to go along with your whims, falling back onto your bed without a sound and shuffling back so his legs don’t hang off the edge. And then there he is. Sukea, in your bed, looking up at you with eyes half lidded with lust (for a second, his left eye shines). There’s an itch in your hands, an itch to touch.

Your mattress is soft on your knees as you crawl up to him. The sink is familiar, grounding, as you lean up to Sukea. While your thighs aren’t framing his face they are bracketing his waist, your hips hovering over his, and that’s good enough for now. Your breaths mingle for a moment — he smells like Hime’s home brew — before you slot your lips to his and try to make good on that earlier desire to kiss him silly.

He’d propped himself up on his elbows — he can’t touch you as you nip, suck, and lick to your heart’s content, swallowing his moans with a shiver. Fresh waves of heat radiate out from your core with each kiss. Too soon, you have to separate to gasp for air. You open your eyes and wonder why you ever closed them when the sight of Sukea’s chest heaving, his lips kiss bitten and pink, was right in front of you the entire time.

“So.” He breathes. “Does my coat look better on your floor?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t look.”

“I don’t have to. Besides, there’s a bigger mystery to solve here.”

Through the haze of arousal, he tilts his head.

“Whether these,” You dip a hand down, trailing fingertips over the dips and curves of his front, to tug at the waistband of his boxer briefs, “will look as good on my floor as your coat does.”

His breath hitches.

“That should be a - ahhh,” Your hand skims along the waistband, lowers to lay light touches on the outline growing only more prominent. “A simple mystery to so-solve?”

“I dunno. I think I’ll have to conduct a very thorough investigation. To get all the - uh - clues.”

Your fingers trail down the dark gray fabric, your pointer and thumb squeezing lightly as you map out the shape of him. All the while, you drink in the sight of him. The flush reaches all the way down to the tops of his pecs. Another mystery, although somewhat unrelated, solved.

Now to the next mystery. Case study, maybe? Ugh, fuck, you’re getting lost in your own lore.

The blush red fades out halfway to his nipples, pebbled and hard. You flick a finger over them. There’s a cute little freckle on his areola.

Sukea jerks, arms trembling. A very interesting reaction. Idle, wicked wondering has you pinching and pulling at a dusky nipple, rolling it between your fingers and cataloguing every twitch, every shudder that wracks his body. You haven’t stopped touching him and there’s a dark wet spot on his briefs.

He falls back against your mattress with a moan at a particularly harsh twist. A lock of chestnut brown hair sticks to his forehead. Satisfaction blooms low in your gut.

“How thorough is this investigation?” He mumbles.

“Uh.” You clear your throat. “Well, it’s been pretty hands on so far but I think this calls for something a little more extreme.”

“Extre - “

It’s a fair question —“extreme” could mean a variety of things — but one that goes almost immediately answered as you lean down to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose before nipping down his jaw. Following the natural lines of his body is hypnotizing. Your tongue swirls over his pulse, beating hard underneath his skin, as your hand smoothes over his chest with as many gentle touches as rough. Rough: the marks you suck into existence along the column of his throat. Gentle: how you touch and taste down his body, kissing every square inch of skin. Softer kisses against old scars that bump against your lips.

He trembles as you brace your hands on his hips, lick your way down his Apollo’s belt, and draw closer to his ruined boxer briefs.

“There’s probably a branch of investigative science about tasting things. And it’s probably super hardcore.”

With that, you nibble at the skin just above the hem of his briefs. His breath hitches, whooshes out in a drawn out “ _haaaaah_ ” that sounds like something straight from Jiraiya’s daydreams (it’s called Icha Icha Paradise and it’s art. Literature. Same difference).

“Sounds - “ All you can see is dark gray. Dark gray and a patch of darker gray that you close your mouth around, tongue darting out to lave against the salty, sticky fabric. Fingers in your hair pull, dig into your scalp, like they’ve never been anywhere else. “ _Sounds_ \- like an Akimichi thing.”

“That’s a stereotype.” You say, except your mouth is still pressed against him so it comes out more as “‘at’s a shteotyph.”

Conversations about clan stereotypes are riveting under the right circumstances. Most of your focus, however, is centered on the sensation of cotton under your tongue and hard, twitching heat under that. You rock back and forth, ruining his briefs with trails of warm saliva. Where your mouth wasn’t cooled quickly. It was a weird, stupidly arousing kind of fun, swiping your tongue in slow patterns as he tries to pull you closer.

You pull away and he makes a sound like he’s been run through.

“Investi - fuck -“ Your hands are trembling as you pull his briefs down. Fuck it, you can't — fuck the lore. Dark gray bunches, revealing, centimeter by centimeter, pale skin that has yet to be marked and curls of dark hair. And then his cock. It’s just as pale as the rest of him. Just as pretty, too, thick and curved and — pretty. Why was everything about Sukea so pretty?

Impatience seizes you. You drag the briefs, soaked with your spit and precum, down to his thighs and wrap your hand around his shaft. He’s so hard. There’s a shiny trail of precum on his stomach where his dick had settled and more dripping down as you hold him upright.

“Don’t move.” You breathe.

“Don’t - ?” He slurs and then his thighs are tensing under your hand as you swallow him down hungrily. The hands in your hair shake.

His cock leaves your mouth with an obscene pop.

“Move. I wanna be able to speak tomorrow.”

You circle your tongue around the head of his cock before sinking down again, cheeks hollowing as you suck and bob shallowly. Feeling him tense and tremble underneath you makes something burn low in your gut but it’s the look on his face that motivates you to try to take him as deep as you can and stroking what you can’t. His teeth are sunk into his still pink bottom lip. Drops of sweat are sliding down the sides of his face and his flush is outlining the purple marks in a strangely pleasing way.

Is it weird you want to lick the tattoos? It’s weird you want to lick the tattoos.

You groan. The way his abs clench as he lifts off the mattress with eyes squeezed shut goes straight to your core. Gently, you untangle his hands from your hair.

“You’re perfect.” Your voice is rough, raw, and when Sukea’s eyes snap open it’s to the sight of you hovering over his cock. Lube and your own arousal drips down the inside of your thighs.

His hands reach for your skin. The tendons in his neck strain as he lifts his head to keep his eyes on you.

“So perfect, Sukea.” You breathe. His mouth hangs open, eyes glued to where he’s disappearing inside you. “You feel so good.”

There’s nothing to grab onto, to pull him closer so you can kiss him, so you reach for his hair. You’ve wanted to feel it between your fingers since you saw him in the bar and —

You’re pressed down on the mattress with your face in the sheets. You feel oddly empty.

“Whuh?”

His breaths, heavy and growling, ghost over your ear, and that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Searing warmth settles on your back — his chest — as he lowers, braces himself on his elbows. You’re caged. And you can’t lie to yourself, it’s amazing. You’re wet, dripping, out of your mind with want.

Your nails catch on his skin as your reach back to grasp his cock, still wet from you and the lube, while raising yourself onto your knees. It’s far from graceful but you’re pushing yourself back onto his cock with a shaky sigh and you couldn’t care less.

“Move. Green light. Fuck, move, I want you, move _move_!” Your voice breaks.

He groans your name in your ear like he’s dying but complies and your apartment is filled with the sounds of his hips meeting yours. It’s harsh, and you’d be lying if you said the first few thrusts didn’t hurt a little, but then he shifts back and has fingers dancing across your core. Your grip tightens on the sheets and you hope to god they don’t tear.

“Sukea!” His name turns into a plea on your lips. “Please, good, don’t - “

The mattress dips and he’s thrusting into you deeper somehow. Whatever that last word was, you lose it along with any other coherent thought. Nothing but the pornographic sound of him fucking into you and the feeling of his hands on you matter.

He moans your name in your ear. His voice is deeper, infuriatingly familiar, and you are sober but also punch drunk on pleasure and dick. Any thought on that connection goes in one ear and out the other when he wraps an arm around your chest, pulls you to his front, and crushes your lips together in a bruising kiss that has you whimpering into his mouth and clenching on his cock. His growl makes your skin tingle and you barely register his lips leaving yours in the afterglow. The teeth biting down into the meat of your shoulder is more noticeable. 

“Su - !”

Warmth drips down your shoulder as a distinctly different kind of warmth floods your insides.

He collapses on the mattress next to you. Your eyelids are already drooping. It’s darker now, and without moonlight you can’t see much, but you swear his hair looks almost silvery.

He’s gone by morning.

(he leaves behind his scarf)

**Author's Note:**

> i just cannot get this dude out of my gd head someone help
> 
> also yes this is sorta inspired by the song by the same name i've been listening to it on repeat someone h e l p


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